


choices

by isloremipsumafterall



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/pseuds/isloremipsumafterall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of choices Constance could have made, d'Artagnan was just one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	choices

Constance hadn’t truly expected her home to become some kind of grounds for Musketeers to just come in and out of it. It was of course mostly to do with d’Artagnan whom Athos, Aramis, and Porthos had decided to take under their wing, but every now and again one of them sought her out.

 

“Again?” Constance asked, torn between bemusement and annoyance as Porthos stood at her door, holding onto an undershirt that had rips in it. “Come in, you can keep me company as I mend this.”

 

Porthos walked in behind her with a grateful grin on his face that she caught as she glanced at him, his usual leather jacket was missing and if Constance had to guess it’d also been sent out for repairs. It had left him in a simple shirt that looked raggedly around the edges and provided no sort of comfort.

 

She clucked her tongue as she took in the rips and saw the blood that had been washed out of them, with a frown she looked up at Porthos who noticed what she had and scratched his neck.

 

“It’s not that bad,” He told her, shrugging and she had to roll her eyes.

 

“I’ve found that you and I have very different ideas towards that.” Constance pulled a needle and thread towards her and with a quick twist of her wrist had it threaded in no time. “So what happened?”

 

“Red Guard thought there was a man who owed him some taxes, a mistake obviously.” Porthos grunted in frustration, his hatred for Red Guards was well known. “Couldn’t get my sword out to block in time.” Porthos continued on in explanation and Constance sighed.

 

“I suppose I should be grateful it’s not worse,” She grumbled to hide her worry, slipping the needle through the shirt in a steady pattern.

 

“Captain’s put me on down time.” At that she could see Porthos was sulking and knew that he hated being out of the field like that.

 

“You need it. Maybe sitting still will let some sense get into your head.” She pointed one finger at him and raised an eyebrow as all Porthos did was laugh loudly. It was infectious and a moment later Constance was giggling as well. His presence just did that to her, made her feel like she could laugh about things again.

 

The shuffling at the door surprised both of them and they jumped as d’Artagnan came into view, he nodded at Porthos and smiled brightly at Constance. It should have made her heart skip a little, d’Artagnan was very handsome and kind after all and she did enjoy his company. She just wasn’t sure she wanted it just then while she was enjoying Porthos’.

 

“I’ll have to pass on training tomorrow,” d’Artagnan told her apologetically, “Captain Treville has asked me to take a message to some guards out of town.” He looked pleased that Treville was trusting him with this, clearly it was important and another step towards being a Musketeer properly.

 

Constance hummed her acknowledgement and turned her head towards her stitches, only seeing d’Artagnan’s frown at the lack of much of anything from her from the corner of her eyes.

 

“Training?” Porthos asked as d’Artagnan stepped away.

 

“He’s been teaching me some sword work and how to fire a gun,” Constance explained and offered Porthos a secretive smile, “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

 

Porthos grinned broadly, “If d’Artagnan’s unavailable to show you then I can tomorrow.” She pointedly looked at his side where she was sure the gash was that he must have gotten. He waved off her concern though, “I can manage.”

 

She looked over him, trying to see if he was just comforting her but there was nothing but honestly in his eyes so she relaxed, “I’ll take you up on that then. Maybe you can show me how to use a belt.” She teased, remembering the first time she had seen Porthos fighting.

 

That made Porthos laugh again, “Better than that,” Porthos told her, his brown eyes looking even warmer from the light of the fire, “I’ll show you how to throw a proper punch.”

 

“Deal,” She laughed again along with him and finished up stitching his shirt and then tossed it towards him, “Now get dressed before my husband comes along and thinks badly of us.” It was just what she didn’t need now, Jacques already thought there may be something with her and d’Artagnan.

 

Porthos snorted and muttered something but all Constance caught was the word ‘idiot’ being said and could only guess the rest.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” She bade him goodnight as she reached the door, about to shut it when Porthos halted it but reaching out and grasping her wrist.

 

“Thank you, Constance,” He said and in the dark of night it was hard to make out his grin but she knew it was there. He saluted her lightly and then walked away, she watched his silhouette, noticing that Porthos stood like he was facing the world head on and willing to take which, she supposed, he would have.

 

It was admirable really and Constance smiled to herself as she shut the door and looked forward to the next day.

 

~~

 

Porthos had a completely different teaching style then d’Artagnan did. She would have expected him to be more hands on but he always seemed to hesitate as he helped her straighten a stance.

 

“You can touch me,” She said, crossing her arms, “I don’t break.”

 

Porthos looked surprised by her statement and chuckled lightly in what she thought was embarrassment. “Just didn’t think you’d appreciate it.” He stated and Constance tilted her head, trying to figure out what he meant.

 

Before she could however Porthos suggested they try a brawl and the next thing she knew he was picking her up and dumping her in the pile of hay in the corner.

 

“Porthos,” Constance tried to sound furious but it was hard to as she struggled to get the straw out of her hair, “What was that supposed to teach me?”

 

“To always be alert.” Porthos stated and she noticed he was about to race towards her again and sidestepped, slipping her foot out to trip him so this time Porthos was the one falling into the hay.

 

“I think I’ve learned it,” She said, a little haughty in her victory and then yelped when Porthos shot up to grab her around the waist and pull her down with him. “This is not a brawl,” Constance laughed and shoved Porthos’ chest, careful of where his wound was.

 

“Depends how you think about it,” Porthos just told her and looked far too pleased with himself. In the light of day it was easier to see the scar over his eyes, the way it moved when he grinned widely and just gave him a more rakish appearance.

 

“I thought I was to learn how to throw a punch.” She retorted, falling back in the hay and just looking over at Porthos.

 

“Dodging is the first lesson.” Porthos said back and reached over, pulling a piece of hay from Constance hair though it did no good since she was sure it would just end up back in there again with her luck.

 

It had been so long since she’d felt this carefree, feeling giddy and like a child again rolling around in hay. Her life with Jacques certainly didn’t offer any happiness and d’Artagnan…he tried but Constance just yearned for more understanding from him.

 

Porthos on the other hand knew this city like she did, knew how the eyes of society looked at you with disdain and judgement and the true nature of things.

 

Without thinking about it Constance moved closer to him, breathing shallowly as her head battled her heart.

 

Porthos noticed and for a second she thought he was going to lean in and kiss her until he sat up, pulling away. She felt nothing but embarrassment that she had read him so wrong, read this so wrong.

 

“Constance,” Porthos began, scrubbing a hand over his face, “d’Artagnan…loves you.” Porthos bit out and frowned, “I can’t do that to him.”

 

“To him?” Constance sat up as well, her embarrassment being ripped away by anger, “This has nothing to do with him.”

 

“Or your husband?”

 

Constance scowled at Porthos, curling her hands into a fist, “You know what he’s like.” She whispered softly. “I just…can’t I love someone as well Porthos? Can’t I see you as loyal and kind and someone to love?”

 

It was a bad idea, Porthos was right. She was married and there was also d’Artagnan’s feelings to think of and yet… Porthos’ gaze met hers and it was right.

 

“Guess you know where to hit after all,” Porthos mumbled as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek first and then hovering near her lips until she took her own leap and leaned up into him.

 

It was soft, not a rushed passion but passionate nonetheless, and Constance could have sworn she tasted honey. It left her wanting more, more of his calloused fingers sweeping across her cheek as he tilted her head, more of the way he smiled into the kiss, more of him.

 

“We can figure this out,” She said, swallowing back all her doubt.

 

Porthos breathed out a sigh in agreement and pulled her close to him again.

 


End file.
